Playing for Keeps
by WhiskeyNoWater
Summary: Katniss Everdeen, an up and coming nature photgrapher is roped into a crazy, race around the world themed reality show. She finds herself playing more than one game, especially with Peeta Mellark, the man she hoped never to cross paths with again, and, thanks to her luck, or lack there of, he's her partner for this fiasco. AU, slow Everlark, influenced heavily by The Amazing Race
1. Good to Know

The Hunger Games and The Amazing Race do not belong to me. I make zero money from this. Wish I could, can't. It's very sad. Please read and review. -WNW

 _ **Good to Know**_

My phone is ringing. My phone is ringing. The sun isn't up. Why the hell is my phone ringing?

"Good morning. This is Effie Trinket calling for Katniss Everdeen," A shrill, but familiar sing-song voice bites through the receiver at my ear drum. I open my eyes just enough to check the time on the screen, snap my eyes shut again, and groan.

"Effie it's 5 in the morning," I grumble, not bothering with pleasantries in the hopes that my godfather's etiquette obsessed assistant will take offense at my non-greeting and hang up so I can go back to sleep. However, I'm apparently known for my barbarism and she continues on, un-phased, anyway. I don't crack my eyes. Maybe I can tune her out, fall back to sleep. Let it end soon.

"Haymitch would like to see you this afternoon in his office at four. Is that good for you," she asked.

"Schedule wise, yes. Mentally, no. How did you even know I was in town?" I'd only got in from Alaska the day before and was attempting to sleep through my jet lag. I'd been gone for over a month shooting a climb for the extreme nature magazine I work for. QUEST sends me all over the world with my camera. My editor, Jane Seeder, says I never miss my shot and my photos have graced the most covers since QUEST was established. It keeps me from home quite a bit, but it pays for Prim's med school, mostly. Prim had picked me up from the airport just yesterday and drove us back to our shared apartment. She has the run of the place while I'm gone, which is often, she's sweet enough to fib and say she gets lonely without me there. After a combination of wine, pizza, and the dish on Rory Hawthorne, who had finally asked her on a date last week, I had crashed on our couch. After four weeks sleeping on the ground, deciding between my bed and the couch was the least of my worries . Only Prim and Seeder had any information on my whereabouts, but leave it to Effie to know exactly where someone is at an exact time. It was her "Spidey-sense".

"So I'll put you down. We'll...he'll be so pleased to see you," Effie tells me, ignoring my "mentality" comment and probably hoping I ignore that she accidentally paired herself verbally with "Uncle" Haymitch. She thought they hid their whatever-it-is-they-were well, but not well enough to keep me from noticing. As early as it is, I'd bet she's at his apartment rather than the office. I grin at that.

"You do that. Roll over and tell the dirty old man, I'll be there," I poke the over dressed, over polite bear, in retribution for her calling so early. I hear her huff and Haymitch's chuckle in the background before I hang up.

I roll from the couch and pad into the kitchen for a glass of OJ. I eat a handful of grapes, glad to see Prim has a decently stocked fridge, I work too hard for her to go hungry. I take what feels like the best hot shower of my life. I love the wilderness, but plumbing is high on my list of favorite things. I don't have to share my shower with a bear, that's always a plus. When I get out, I can hear my cell ringing again. Effie already called, Prim's asleep, so it would have to be my boss.

"How did you get it," Seeder asks excitedly. "How did you get that shot of the grizzly."

Like minds, I guess.

"I was dirty. He was hungry and unless I wanted to be a naked appetizer to some trout, I had to stay put. Luckily, I was down wind."

"Remind me to check for bear attack insurance policies the next time we send you up there. This is great stuff Katniss; even the article is incredible. National Geographic eat your heart out."

"Just doing my job," I reply, trying to stay humble, but I'm smiling like mad.

"Well, keep it up. I've got to go see Michael about his article on Peru. He's going to be pissed that you edged him again."

Michael Salvichio and I had been in a tug of war for the cover of QUEST since Seeder hired me. He hates my guts. I kind of felt bad for him this time though, I lucked out with that bear in more ways than one and I'm sure it's hard to take a money shot of an alpaca. Then again Peru is gorgeous, it's not my fault he lacks creativity or sheer dumb luck.

I decide to crawl into my own bed for a couple more hours, so I won't be too snippy with Haymitch. We aren't known for being warm and cuddly as much as we may love each other. When I wake up, I feel less likely to butt heads with the old man just for the hell of it, but only just. I get dressed quickly, throwing on my favorite jeans and an old t-shirt from my high school. Panem Panthers Baseball State Championship 2007. It's comfortable. I'm eating a cold slice of pizza when Prim, comes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head and talking on the phone.

"Mhmm, I'll tell her. See you then."

She smiles at me after she hangs up.

"Um, Rory says that Gale says hi."

"Oh," I smile back, forcefully. "Next time you see Rory, give them my love."

She gives me a knowing look before disappearing into her bedroom, but doesn't say anything.

The summer before college Gale proposed. It was a shock to me. As tied at the hip as we were, I had no idea he even felt anything for me, let alone strong enough to ask me to marry him. We just worked on so many levels and we did "love" each other, in at least one of the definitions of that word. I get that. But, he knew I didn't want to get married or have kids, not after my parents died and I became essentially Prim's mother. And how could I do that to him, marry him without passion or purpose? I didn't have time to be a wife and a mom. I told him as much, as gently as I could. He didn't talk to me for a year and then another. He completely cut me off. I didn't hear from him again until he bumped into our old friend Madge at State. He called three weeks after their first date to apologize. That was six years ago. They're married now and she's due in October. I never developed the same feelings Gale had for me. I never grasped a deeper, more heated definition of love, but in the past years something had begun to change. My empty bed seemed colder. Babies looked cuter. It was terrifying. The thought that I kind of wanted one and the thought that I probably wouldn't ever have one. I'd blown my only real shot. I'd had a few relationships after the proposal, but nothing amounted to much; nothing caused a true spark. The heat eluded me. I wanted what my parents had. There never were two people more in love than that. The thought of them stings my eyes. They died my junior year in high school, drunk driver. I wanted what they had. It didn't seem too much to ask, but I'd long since come to the conclusion that a love like that couldn't be found in times like this. So I married my work.

I called a taxi, kissed Little Duck on top of the head, and headed out for Haymitch's office. I tried to focus on guessing what he could want rather than thinking about how empty our apartment would be tonight. Rory was taking Prim out for the first time. She had offered to reschedule, but I thought she'd waited long enough. She'd been in love with Rory since kindergarten. Maybe I could just live vicariously through her, be the cool aunt that buys great souvenirs. That was a heartening thought.

It wasn't all that long a ride. I paid the driver and strolled into Haymitch's building. Haymitch was a publicist, in charge of tailoring the public images of the many employed by Snow Media Corporation. SMC was a national broadcast station, famous for reality television, news, and the occasional new hit drama. As my place was behind a camera instead of in front of it, I was completely at a loss as to why Haymitch wanted to meet at his office. Still, I owe my career to Haymitch, when he calls, I answer. I'd originally started my college days as an English major, certain I was destined to teach middle school at Panem High. I was required to take an elective in my basics and familiar with my dad's old camera, I decided on photography. Much to my own surprise, I was a natural. Upon seeing the portfolio for my final my sophomore year, Haymitch handed it around to a few friends. Seeder called and the rest is history. I made it through the bustling lobby and gratefully found an empty elevator. The people person I am, I immediately started jabbing the closed door button. I nearly had it too, but suddenly a hand reached out.

"Hold the elevator!" Dammit. A long arm followed the hand and I had to bite down hard on my lip to keep from gasping. Because that long arm, that large bronze hand, belonged to the first name on the roster you could read on the back of my t-shirt. 2007's State Baseball Champ, All American, MVP, Class President, Local Do-Gooder, and the person I spent the majority of senior year avoiding like the plague: Peeta Mellark. Double dammit.

As soon as recognition lights in his eyes, a mile wide, hundred watt smile spreads across his face and the doors close behind him. I'd successfully managed to never be alone with him for nearly eight years now, until fate, the heartless bitch she is, saw fit to intervene.

"Katniss." It's not a question or a greeting. Just my name and he fumbles with his hands for a minute and I'm scared for a moment that he's going to hug me. But he jams his hands into the pockets of his dark denim jeans and I inwardly sigh in relief. That was one of the good things about Peeta, he knew how to handle people, or in my case not handle them at all.

"Hi," I reply and I notice with dismay that he hasn't pushed a floor button, meaning he must be heading to the 21st like me. He turns from me to face the doors.

"How are you," he asks quietly. His voice is controlled.

"Great. Little tired. Always busy. You ," I respond, looking at the tops of my trainers.

"Same," he says and leaves it at that. We reach the fourteenth floor before someone else gets in and Peeta steps closer to me. He smells like sandlewood, leather, and cinnamon rolls. It's ridiculous. Those scents are not supposed to work together, but they do. I also immediately wish, I'd had more than a slice of cold pepperoni before I came. My stomach growls and I'm certain I see the corner of his lips turn up in a smile. He looks almost the same, but his golden blonde curls used to flop carelessly over his ears and over his forehead: now his hair is cropped close on the sides, the top stylishly swept to one side. He's in dark jeans and a light blue button up. He seems polished. I'm pretty positive my sole is detaching from the bottom of my sneaker and the hole I'm fond of in the knee of my jeans is fraying to a ridiculous point, but I can't seem to give up on them. After the longest and quietest elevator ride in history. We both file out of the elevator. He apologizes gruffly for having bumped me trying to make it around a hurried looking woman carrying a stack of papers up to her chin. I smile half in exasperation and half in comfort when I spy Effie at her desk.

"Some things never change," Peeta says and I nod in agreement. Effie's flamboyant style had once been the talk of the town when she was the secretary of Panem High. That is, until Haymitch hired her and brought her up, up, up into the big city life. Now, her bright, powder pink, puffy sleeved mini dress, with matte, baby blue stilettoes seemed oddly appropriate, even her hair, stacked high enough to make a Texan beauty queen question the hold of her own hairspray, seemed right. She was excited to see us. How she skipped to us in those little blue death traps I'll never know, but she was around the desk and hugging me in seconds. Effie has only one Spidey-sense and unlike Peeta she does not instinctively know just how much attention someone else is comfortable with. She kisses my cheeks and I'm increasingly glad her bright lip color is the expensive, stay-put kind. Pink isn't my thing. Peeta however, sensing my discomfort, loops and arm around her waist and scoops her up, spinning her effortlessly as if they're characters out of a fifties movie.

"How's my favorite receptionist," Peeta laughs.

"Glorious," she _replies._

"If Principal Coin could see you now," he congratulates and she beams. He always did know just what to say.

"Put down _my_ favorite receptionist Slugger, before I call security," and there's Haymitch, winking at Peeta from the door of his office. He does the old jab and weave with Peeta, then wraps him in a manly hug, clapping his back, before holding him at arms length.

"You were right, baking was the way to go, you're looking good my man," Haymitch praises. "Not even soft around the middle." He poked Peeta's stomach experimentally.

"Back at you, you must have found the fountain of youth," Peeta replies. Haymitch jerks his head at Effie. "That one keeps me on my toes."

Effie smiles softly and for once the pink in her cheeks is natural. It's a nice picture the three of them. They mingle so well.

"What are you doing over there Sweetheart, the party's over here," Haymitch says spying me lingering at the edge of their welcome fest. He snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me in tight to his side. Once, I would have flinched at the contact. Once, he would gave smelt deeply of booze and sweat, his body weak and in disrepair. But, today I soften, squeezing my Godfather back, thankful for the strong arm and the hard side I'm trapped against, to breath in the smell of aftershave and fabric softener. I remind myself to be kinder to Effie. If not for that technicolor whirlwind/walking itinerary, I doubt if he'd have come so far. Peeta gives me an unfathomable look and I disconnect, stepping back. Perhaps, Effie is more empathetic than I guessed or she's just trying to keep us on schedule, because she directs us into the conference room next to Haymitch's office. Oddly enough, she escorts in a grinning Henry Undersee, Mayor of Panem, as well as a stout, pale man with white blonde hair, I don't readily know, just as we're sitting down. I put myself as far from Peeta as I can without appearing rude. Safe with a huge, highly polished table between us, I notice he gives me a look that I read as both hurt and impatience and I instantly feel guilt. It's not him. It's me. I don't manage being in debt to someone well. And I am greatly indebted to him. When my parents died, I was only seventeen and Prim thirteen, our godfather was a raging alcoholic, who lived uptown, and our pantry was empty. We were a social worker's nightmare. I worked two jobs and went to school, but that was barely enough to scrape together what we needed. I was hungry a lot those days. It wasn't Haymitch's fault. He couldn't have known, because I wouldn't tell him. I couldn't bare to ask something of someone so broken. Gale helped where he could, but we were sinking. The idea of someone realizing how close we were to over our heads terrified me. Would they take Prim? Poor, soft Prim. I was on the verge of dropping school to take on full time work when the first basket arrived. It was huge and full to the brim with boxed meals, milk, eggs, fresh fruit, vegetables, and bread, and I wouldn't have guessed who it was from, had it not been for the cookies. There was a box of beautifully decorated cookies, some with delicate lace designs, others were dahlias, sunflowers, dandelions, tiger lilies, sugary iced petals in vibrant colors, that could only come from one place: Mellark's. I told myself when I took the first bite of a cookie, a brilliant yellow dandelion, that I would go to school the next day and thank Peeta, but I couldn't. Not only was he always surrounded by his uptown friends, the shame I felt at being a charity case was so incredible I couldn't bear to be in his sight. Despite my behavior, a basket arrived every two weeks for a year and a half, until I graduated high school. Prim moved in with a dried out Haymitch after I got my scholarship and the fear of going hungry disappeared, but I never forgot it, nor did I forget the baskets.  
I peek sideways at him again, thankful his attention is drawn to the man we don't know, shaking hands with Haymitch. Peeta is pleasant to look at, I won't lie about that. He has a strong jaw, his baby face has slimmed somewhat and his new hair cut has helped accentuate that. He has nice smile, that he over uses. Then he looks back to me for a moment and catches me inspecting him. I'd forgotten the color of his eyes. I must not have given them the merit they were due before, because they are really something. Middle of the ocean blue, that's what I would call them. Not light, but not dark, changing almost, and fringed with enviable eyelashes. He holds my gaze for a moment before Haymitch gets down to business and I turn away.

"Alright, Slugger, Sweetheart, this is Plutarch Heavensbee and you know Mayor Undersee. Plutarch it's all yours."

The blond man clears his throat and smoothes the front of his charcoal suit, with a smile.

"Haymitch and I recently pitched an idea for a new show to the big guys and they were intrigued. So intrigued were they, in fact, they gave us the green light. It's a different kind of reality show. We thought reality needed to punch up the action," he punched the air with his solid, meaty fist to further the point, before continuing. " Our idea was for ten teams of two to race around the world, completing challenges, sometimes facing the elements, fatigue, having to work with their partners on and off camera. It'll be physically and emotionally grueling, which is why, when we were asked what sort of people would make up the teams this season, we decided to go for a crowd pleaser, home town heroes," Plutarch pauses, "Haymitch and I of course got to choose the home towns."

"And that's where we come in," I interrupted. "That's hardly fair. Nepotism isn't going to look good on your resume old man. I don't think this is a good idea," I say, starting to rise from my chair, ready to find the smallest of reason to make a quick exit before I'm cast in the new vamped up American Gladiators, but Mayor Undersee, cuts in.

'Haymitch didn't choose you, either of you for that matter, as contestants. You were elected."  
I raise a brow skeptically and slide back into my seat. Damn.

"Actually, it's better that way," Haymitch explains. "Especially for the audience. We let them decide, choose their people's champions. They chose you. You can always decline of course, but listen close Sweetheart, here's the part you'll be most interested in. The winners' prize is one million dollars. Even split fifty-fifty, I'd say that covers sweet Primrose's medical school and you could even move to Soho after. No more ramen."

He lets that settle for a moment. Certain he has me. They all are, each of the men in this room looks positively satisfied, excepting Peeta, whose face had become an unreadable mask.

"How intrusive would this be," I ask.

"There will be an interview for the premiere so the people back home can get to know you better and a camera crew will follow you right up to your hotel door and probably further if you don't lock it," Plutarch supplies honestly. I make a face.

"What about our jobs," I ask again.

"I spoke with Seeder this morning. She thinks it'll be a lovely exclusive article for QUEST, the magazine will thrive. It would only help your career. As for Peeta, he owns his company. I'm sure he could delegate his duties to a trusted employee for a time."

I cast an impressed look Peeta's way and he blushes.

"How long do we have to think about it," I ask.

"Long enough for the two of you to mull it over in the café downstairs for an hour, Snow is not a patient man and he wants filming to begin ASAP. You are the last team to accept, we have a limited amount of time to find new contestants. It would be most... inconvenient," Haymitch answers giving me a hard stare that I return.

"I'll be up in an hour. I can't speak for Peeta though," I tell them, standing.

"I'll join you," he says rising. He opens the door for me and we slip past Effie on the phone, and into the elevator.

"He did that on purpose," I remark darkly as the doors close. "Saving us for last, knowing I'd have to make a quick decision and would hate to leave him high and dry. He knows I don't do cameras."

"I think your photos beg to differ " Peeta replies, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"You know what I mean. I'm a private person. They're going to dig into the past, air out my tragedies, especially for this hometown hero bit they want me to play."

"You think I don't have a few skeletons hanging up in my closet," Peeta asks, and he turns to me. His eyes are wide and honest and eyes that had occasionally been blacked by his mother. He and his brothers had always lied, chalked it up as an accident or just boys playing rough, but after a while everyone knew.

"I know you do," I admit, then look away from him. His scrutiny is too deep. "And you're alright with that? With someone knowing about that?"

"Most everyone I know on a personal level knows about my childhood. Why should it bother me if strangers do," he answers as we step from the elevator. "Besides," Peeta says, leading the way to the café, "Somewhere someone else is dealing with the same thing. I'd like them to see it can and does get better."

I think on that a while as we purchase our drinks, a hot chocolate for me and an earl gray for him. He drinks it without sugar.

"We're going to spend a lot of time together, if we do this I mean," I said quietly.  
He chuckles. It's a nice sound.

"If that's why you're so apprehensive, I should be offended. Most people like me actually," he says smiling.

"Oh no, I like you, I mean, I was just putting it out there," I say quickly.

"I know what you meant, I think," he chuckles again. "I don't think I'll mind, if you don't."  
I nod, but take another noncommittal sip of my hot chocolate.

"What's catching you up Katniss," he asks. "There's a chance to end any of your financial problems. Your going to cause a lot of good publicity for your magazine. You have the opportunity to inspire people that might need it. Only good can come of this."

"I don't know. I guess it feels kind of like charity," I sigh.  
He doesn't say anything for a moment and I look up at him. He fixes me with an intense look I'm not prepared for. Those eyes are too expressive.

"I don't see what's so wrong with getting a little help," he says softly. He goes back to his tea and me to my chocolate.

"Are you in," he asks after a time.

"I can't find a reason why not," I reply back. "Trust me. I've been trying."  
He laughs.

"Let's go tell Haymitch then."

We've made it to the fifteenth floor when I stop the elevator.

"Thank you for the baskets. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, I should have and the longer I didn't the harder it became to say anything at all." I almost whisper, staring deeply at the front pocket of his shirt as if it were feeding me lines and feeling the heat rising out of my neck into my face.

"Is that why you've treated me like a pariah all this time," he asks and I can feel his gaze on my face.

"Pretty much," I admit sheepishly. He laughs lowly and shakes his head at me. He's doing that thing with his hands again, uncertain what he's doing with them. He gives me a wary sort of look, sighs, and hits the floor button on the elevator with his uneasy hands.

" Good to know." he remarks quietly and we ride the rest of the way up in a comfortable silence. Haymitch and Plutarch are overjoyed and after our signatures, we become the tenth and final team on the first ever season of Around the World.


	2. On the Nose

Hey guys, thanks so much for the follows and to m1129 for taking the time out of your day to read and write me an encouraging review. Much appreciated! Here is chapter two. Hope it's to your liking. Had trouble uploading it yesterday evening, sorry about the wait.

Per usual, I don't own The Hunger Games or The Amazing Race, still pretty bummed about that. -WNW

#############################  
On the Nose  
"So you had her alone in an elevator and she thanks you for not letting her starve, and finally clarifies that no, she does not hate you, and you just... hit the floor button?" Delly's voice is the epitome of exasperation as she helps me decide what to put in my luggage. I've got to carry one bag with me the whole way through the trip. That bag would be my lifeline. I trust her help with packing it a lot more than my brother, her husband. Rye lay sprawled across my bed, thumbing through one of my old art history text books. His mystified look was not encouraging.

"I know Dell," I answer. "I'm an idiot."

"Haven't you ever heard "Love in an Elevator" man? Grow a pair," Rye interjects shutting the book and tossing it aside.

"I'm not so certain I should base my life decisions off of Aerosmith lyrics Rye," I remark dryly, "I don't know, but, hey Katniss, since we're trapped together in this steel box, I'd just like to mention I've been obsessed with you since we were kids. It's not creepy at all. Please hold still while I sexually assault you, comes off a bit rapey if you ask me."

"Well, when you put it that way," Rye replies. I turn to find his wife rifling through my underwear drawer.

"Oh, thank God," she says pulling a pair of black boxer briefs out of the folded piles. "So refreshing to not find tighty whities. You're such a boy scout I was worried."

"What the hell Delly," I yelp. "Get out of there, I'm twenty six, I can pack my own underwear."

"Yes, but will you pack the right ones," she asks, perusing through the piles as if going through her best friend/ brother-in-law's underwear was completely normal.

"Seeing as how I only buy the one kind, I like to think I only have the right ones," I say, pulling my boxer briefs out of her grip. She shrugs, scoops up three of the neat stacks and stuffs them into the bag as tightly as possible.  
"Where do you keep your condoms? You have condoms right," she asks, crossing the room and ripping open my bedside table drawer.  
"Rye, stop your wife," I groan.  
"She was your friend first. Entirely your fault we're married actually," he waves absentmindedly at her as she digs through the drawer. She casts a glare at him over her shoulder. "And I wouldn't have it any other way babe," he adds. She goes back to it and he smirks at me.

"Peeta, I know you're a saint and all, but where are they," she demands.

"I won't need them," I argue.

"Better to have them and not need them, than to need them, but not have them," she says in a sing-song voice.

"Thanks Mom."

"Where?"

"Medicine cabinet," I answer, resigned. It is my fault she's here after all.

Rye snorts.

"They're in an entirely different room," he snickers. "Bet the box is full." Delly socks him in the arm as she strolls into my on suite bathroom.

When she comes back in, tossing the unopened box into my bag, Rye dissolves into a thankfully silent fit of laughter.

"It's by choice Rye."

He doesn't reply, because he's holding his sides trying desperately to breathe through his laughter.

"And at least cover those up. She'll kill me if she sees them." I tuck ten or so t-shirts over the box most likely to get me murdered and go back to packing.

"At this rate someone should put you out of your misery." Rye laughs.

#############################  
"And how long have you two known each other," Caesar Flickerman asks. He's a flamboyant looking little man, deeply tanned, a streak of blue in his overly styled hair, startlingly white teeth, and a mint green shirt, under his white top coat, tucked into what could only be described as Easter-peep-yellow pants. He is distracting to say the least. He is the host of Around the World. On top of being one plumed feather short of becoming a bird of paradise, Flickerman is naturally charming. He is somewhat making the initial interview for the show feel less like being grilled. Still, I smooth the slick palms of my hands over my denim clad knees. Peeta smiles easily at the question, well in his element. He drops his arm across the back of my chair almost conspiratorially and immediately takes me completely out of my element. He looks at me and his smile is genuine.

"To be honest we don't really know each other. I mean, we know of each other. But I'd say I've noticed her most of my life. She's hard to miss. Every one notices Katniss."

I force a smile, feeling the blood heat to hellish levels in my cheeks.

"He's ridiculous," I counter. "He's the noticeable one," Trying to give them something, so I don't look so wooden on camera, but it seems short. I can see Haymitch rolling his eyes in the shadows behind the camera. It was a lot for me though. He can't deny that. The blush has spread to the tips of my ears.

"She's just being humble," Peeta waves my compliment off, but there's a pink in his cheeks now.

"How would you say your current careers have prepared you for this kind of epic adventure," Flickerman poses.

Peeta laughs. It's an easy, relaxing sound.

"I'm a baker. Absolutely nothing has prepared me for this moment, unless those eating challenge rumors are true. In which case, I can carb load with the best of them." Flickerman laughs and Peeta carries on in that humorous self-depreciating way that's always made him likeable. "Katniss, here, is the adventurer. I figure I can try not to be dead weight and pay her in free baked goods for the rest of our lives when we win."

"When you win? Confident. I like it."

"Just thinking positive. This is her job in real life. She travels, climbs, runs, jumps, catches planes, boats, and trains. She speaks six different languages, probably not one from any of the countries you'll send us to, but yeah, I feel we've got a good shot."

Flickerman gives me a nod.

"Well...yeah...I do have that sort of advantage. Travel is just life to me , living out of a suitcase. Jetlag is pretty much the routine body function, like breathing. Even airline food is starting to taste good to me now, that's how often I fly. Still, I don't think Mandarin is going to help me out in the Bahamas, but that's where he comes in. He's got the face and the charm and he'll just smile and nod and joke our way through to the next destination. He's a people person and a people person is always handy to have around."

Haymitch shoots me a big thumbs up and Flickerman continues.

"Day one as a team and you're already answering each other's questions. Team work. Good start. I tell you what folks at home, it's going to be hard not to pick favorites, but lets get down to some serious questions before we let you go."

"Cut." Somebody shouts in aggravation. "Katniss is fidgeting."

Haymitch groans audibly, sliding his hands down his face, the image of exasperation.

"Last questions Sweetheart. Have a water, take five. Then fess up so we can all go home. Getting a likable personality out of you is like squeezing water from a rock. Why must you make my job so hard?" Haymitch growls directing me to the beverage cart.

"Somebody has to," I reply, taking a messy sip out of a bottle of water, nerves making it spill down my chin.

"You make me want a drink," he grumbles.

"You're a recovering alcoholic. You always want a drink," I shoot back.

"If you have to have any noticeable characteristics, blunt honesty is not my favorite," he snips.

"Beggars can't be choosers," I sing-song and stalk away, before we say "fightin' words" I stand quietly next to Peeta, shifting my weight uneasily from foot to foot. He flashes me a quick sympathetic smile and finishes looking at something on his phone before turning to me.

"Did you know there's about seven point three billion people on earth," he asks, stowing his phone in his back pocket.

"I thought it was six something," I answer, my brow furrowing at the odd subject.

"No, seven point three. And there's only about three hundred and nineteen million in the United States," he continued down the census record littered rabbit hole.

"Uuhhh...right, only."

"Do you know what that means?"

"You really wanted to audition for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire and that's your final answer?" I offered. He grins.

"No, smart ass. That means that even if everyone in America watches this. There will still be six billion, nine hundred and eighteen million people who never, ever see it, give or take a tiny country or two. America hardly counts anyway. The attention span in this country is hard wired to change every time one of the Kardashian's sneezes. One day, this mortifyingly personal interview will be forgotten, but if it's not, you'll have enough money from our winnings to get facial reconstructive surgery. Nip here, tuck there, new nose. Problem solved," he explains jovially.

"My nose is a problem?" I joke

"Only a little one. Now, let's get this over with Pinocchio," He winks and strolls back on set.

We sit back in our respective seats and wait to be cued.

"Did you know all that information off the top of your head?" I whisper at him out of the corner of my mouth.

"Of course not. I was googling it when you walked up," he whispers back. "Just remember. America's opinion is the least of your problems." he feigns his nose growing all of the sudden. I laugh and we're back on the air.

"So Katniss, your rough childhood..."

#############################  
After the interview is an even more daunting task, a meet and greet dinner with the other teams. I want to return to my apartment, lay face first on the couch, and imagine that I didn't just put my entire life's history out there for the world to see. Well, most of America to see, as Peeta informed me. Surprisingly, the hardest part was hearing Peeta rehash some of his violent memories. Even though he made it through, to sit on the stage, smiling, pristine, seemingly unmarred, I felt anger roil and sour my stomach, wondering how anyone could hurt someone so kind. Like he said, we knew of each other, but even though I didn't truly know him, the thought of him suffering made my blood boil.

As we enter the dining room of the tiny, but luxurious hotel that is hosting the studio's dinner, he leans down and whispers next to my ear.

"Well, I'd say we earned ourselves a drink. What are you having," he asks.

"We earned the whole bar, Mellark. Jack and coke, if you don't mind," I reply, smiling tiredly at him. He grins.

"I don't. Be right back."

He wanders away and for a moment I'm very happily alone in a room full of production crew, wait staff, and cast.

"So, did you spill all your secrets to the camera Everdeen or have you got a couple left over," a voice says suddenly, much too close to my ear and I whirl around.

"Finn! what the hell are you doing here," I gasp, feeling the bronze arms of Finnick Odair, professional surf boarder, encircle my waist in an overly friendly bear hug. I'd followed him for QUEST, covering his hunt for monster waves in California, Hawaii, and Australia two years ago, by far one of my best gigs. Finn was a likeable guy, too likeable, Adonis in the flesh, charm for days, and he knew it. It had been a fun trip once he realized there was no way in hell I was sleeping with him. He's now one of my few close friends.

"500,000 thousand dollars buys an awful lot of surf boards Katniss."

"Why didn't you tell me you were on the show," I ask.

" Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you just get in from Alaska, I can still smell plane on you," he jokes.

"But if you're here that means.."I started.

"That means we're getting fuckin' wasted tonight Brainless," a woman's voice crows over the crowd. Johanna Mason, was the loud, obnoxious, totally crude, running wide open, coconspirator behind Finn's brainchild, the Nature Nurtures Project. Somehow, likely at a drunken party, Jo and Finn had met, relayed their mutual love of all things outdoors and something incredible happened. The two loosest people I've ever met didn't fall into bed, they fell into business. They now run a philanthropist group that takes veterans, the depressed, the critically ill, school kids repressed by the big city , anyone who wants to breathe some fresh air for a change, out into nature. Trees and the sea, cure all, in their opinion.

"Tell me, who's soul did you sell to get you two nominated as hometown heroes," I say as Jo wraps an arm around my shoulder and plants a wet kiss on my cheek.

"Oh, that. It's easy. I don't let Jo talk to small children or easily scandalized old women. So far no one's died on our watch and so long as we can keep managing those things, everyone will keep thinking we're delightful, heroic even," he explains with a patented Odair wink. Lesser women would have been instant puddles. Jo and I are made of freakishly sturdier stuff though.

"You two are no fun, you know that," Finn tells us.

"We are, we're just a different kind of fun," Jo argued. "Speaking of fun, who's your partner. Got miles deep blue eyes on that one, wouldn't mind him being Finn's kind of fun."

"You mean, leggy, blonde, and vapid?" Finn interjected.

"I mean easy," Jo replied. "Did you call dibs or can I? That jawline just makes you want to nibble on it."

I could feel the heat of my ears suddenly bursting into flame.

"Nobody is calling dibs on Peeta," I attempt to set Jo straight, casting a look around the room for him. He's been gone awhile.

"Well, somebody might have to. Looks like he's getting a double serving of Finn's definition of fun right now."

On either side of Peeta, each with an expertly manicured hand placed lightly on his person, were two of the leggiest, blondest, most gorgeous women I'd ever seen in my life.

"Holy hell, my definition of fun on the nose," Finn rejoined. "Your boy looks overwhelmed between all that blonde. Let me go assist." Then he was off like a shot.

"So glad I never slept with him," Jo said smiling.

"Me too. It's like being in an exclusive club," I replied, watching one of the blondes detach from Peeta and wrap herself around Finn's arm.

"The Sisterhood of Finn hasn't been in these pants," Jo offered and I laughed.

"Bit longwinded, but funny."

"How about, Not Sluts," she tried again.

"Blunt and to the point, I like it, " I agree. "But I'm not sure you qualify under that title Jo."

"Shut up Brainless. Twenty bucks and a nibble at Peet's chin says Finn leaves with both blondes," she wagers, waggling her eyebrows at me.

"No bet and no nibbling on Peeta," I reply firmly.

"Finn's right. You are no fun," she tells me. Peeta and Finn, return with the blondes in tow. For a moment, they almost look like twins, however, on closer inspection the pair are equally glamorous, but not identical. Peeta hands me my drink and leans down to whisper in my ear.

"Get her off of me and you've got yourself a lifetime supply of cheesebuns Everdeen."

"Mmmm, my favorite," I whisper back.

"I know," he replies simply.

"Ladies, this is my good friend, Katniss Everdeen, extreme photographer for Quest Magazine, and my partner, Johanna Mason, Nature Nurtures," Finnick makes the introductions. "Kat, Jo, this is Glimmer and Cashmere Gates. They're make-up moguls that run the charity they inherited from their mother, Beauty for All." From the look on Jo's face, it took every bit of her extremely limited self control not to burst out laughing at their names. "Jo, this is Peeta Mellark, he owns Mellark's , the company, and runs Food on the Table, a charity food bank on wheels. Glimmer, here, is totally fascinated."

"Well, I'm very sorry Glimmer, but Haymitch insisted on talking to Peeta the minute I could find him. Can't keep him waiting. Peeta, shall we," I lie coolly and he instantly slips out of Glimmer's grip. She gives me a pointed glare that I return with a smile as Peeta loops an arm around my waist and I do my best not to stiffen. "Jo, Finn, catch you later," I call over my shoulder.

"You owe me Mellark, she's got my number now," I grit out, feeling Glimmer's poisonous glare on my back.

"Well, she was after mine, I was running out of ways to politely reject her."

"A 'Fuck off. I'm not going to sleep with you', works better than you think. Look how me and Finn turned out," I tell him and his noticeably arm relaxes a little around me.

"You didn't sleep with Odair when you covered him," he says half question, half statement, looking through the crowd for Haymitch.

"Of course not."

"He still seems touchy," He replies. "And you don't let people touch you," he adds.

"That's just Finn and I'm letting you touch me. You know, you do know a lot about me for someone who just knows of me," I return shortly. He grins.

"Yeah, but you're completely uncomfortable with this and I guess I do. Just paid attention is all. Like I said, you're noticeable." He gives me a warm smile and one of those unfathomable looks of his. "Try to relax. We're a team. You can trust me," he says and the look he gives me then is even warmer and unreadable.

"There's open seats at Haymitch's table," I interrupt the strangely charged moment and tug him over to my godfather and Effie.

"Hi boss, Effie," I greet sliding into the seat next to Haymitch. Peeta kisses the top of Effie's head and takes the seat next to me.

"Here to get the skinny on the competition, Sweetheart?" Haymitch asks, eyeing my drink darkly. I slide it discreetly sideways towards Peeta.

"Yes, you know I'm not the meet and greet type and Peeta is all polited out. Thought you could give us the run down from a distance."

"Glad to oblige." He says and turns his sharp eyes on the room. "You know Odair and Mason, of course. Your article inspired me to pick their town. The people did all the work, popular friends you've got Katniss. You've just met the glitter duo, they're running out of ideas and money, and much to their dismay the charity is the only part of their business thriving, especially since they aren't nearly as charitable as their late mother. That pair over there, is Beetee and Wiress, clean energy whizzes, friends trying to reduce our carbon foot print, so smart I can't understand a damn thing they say. The team sitting over by the window is Thresh and Rue Bantom, they run Green Thumbs Community Gardens. They're sister and brother. They travel around the country teaching people in destitute neighborhoods how to grow their own food. Good people. The two men talking to them are Vick Boggs and Chaff Brown, beloved police and fire chiefs from the same little town in Texas, tough, will fight fair."

"What about the redhead Finn keeps eyeing over Cashmere's shoulder and her partner?" I ask.

"Oh, caught that have you? That's Annie Crestia and her partner, they run Color Me Happy. It's a therapeutic art group."

"Really? I went to one of their exhibits last year. It was incredible," Peeta says.

"Nice as she is pretty too Slugger," Haymitch informs him.

"So am I the only person here that doesn't run a charity," I ask starting to feel pretty bad. Even the glittery bimbo sisters give back to the community, albeit reluctantly.  
"No, see those four towards the door. The giant guy eyeballing everyone, that's Cato Hart, starting quarterback for Greenville University Rams, first round draft pick material for next year, and the ego to prove it. The little dark haired "friendly" looking thing next to him is his partner, Clove Danes, Olympic gymnast, coach says she'll take gold or die trying. Both extremely competitive and ruthless, they'll make Greenville proud. The guy in the suit that could buy all of us a new house is Marvel McKinney and his teammate Addie Fox. Marvel is the mastermind behind a new social media startup that I have no clue how to use and Fox is a highly successful musician on the east coast. All of them make their own money, keep their own money, and are here for more money. Feel better now," Haymitch asks.

"Sort of."

"Don't beat yourself up Katniss. You do a pretty incredible thing. You're showing people the world and I've read your articles. You feel like you're there. If it makes you feel better, maybe you could highlight each of the charities involved in the show, when you do your piece on it. Charities pay lots to get the word out there, a free plug in QUEST, would be a charity in itself," Peeta says.

"That's actually a really great idea Peeta, thanks," I tell him, because it is. The idea of helping people help more people with just a quick dash of my fingers over my keyboard is extremely uplifting.

"I get those from time to time," he replies with a wink and I freeze, feeling my face warm of its own volition, before taking an overly large sip of my drink. Jo is right, miles and miles of blue. Who'd have thought? Finnick Odair's wink bounces off my proverbial shields like a line drive straight at his ego, but sweet Peeta Mellark's wink makes my brain click into off mode for a few dangerous seconds. I'm definitely going to have to get a handle on that. Fortunately, my little moment of self-bewilderment goes unnoticed as the camera crew that will be following us arrives at the table to introduce themselves. Then someone is banging their fork on their stemware and suddenly Plutarch is standing.

"Now, that we've all met, dinner is coming right up. I just wanted to make a toast to this adventure we'll all be starting tomorrow. To all of you contestants I just want to wish you luck, may the odds be ever in your favor. Tomorrow the hard work starts, now eat, drink, and be merry."

Everybody toasts and drinks. Dinner comes and goes. I dance with Peeta and Finn who are taking turns actively avoiding the glitter sisters. Finn having decided they aren't his type of fun after all. The only real downside of the evening is my brief interlude with Cato Hart. Who decides he wants to dance right after Peeta gets cornered for "another quick question" by Flickerman and he won't take no for an answer. I get the feeling he doesn't hear it often.

"So you did that big article on surfer boy," he asks, steering me around the floor in a hold I consider a little too close for comfort.

"Mhmmm," I say instead of the tempting You can read?

"So you did him, now you can do me. I'm very interesting," he tells me, the double entendre in his words made even clearer by his leer.

"At Quest we like to leave football to Sports Illustrated," I grit out, trying to keep my temper, blatantly ignoring his meaning. "Have you met the Gates girls yet? Glimmer and Cashmere don't write, but you know I think they'll find you interesting."

I point the pair out, over my shoulder, and watch Cato's eyes light up in that predatory fashion I usually associate with large wild animals.

"See you around Everdeen, " He promises in a tone I find mildly threatening and releases me, moving off to where the grass is greener.

"What did that guy want," Peeta asks, appearing at my elbow, his eyes following Cato's retreating back.

"What most men want, I recommended him to some people throwing theirs at people. Have the nasty feeling he'll be back though."

"Well, with that in mind would you like to share a cab. We'll be the team not hung over tomorrow, " he offers.

"Let's go," I agree quickly. Effie reminds us what time we're supposed to be in the plaza tomorrow before we go.

Finn is dancing with Annie when we pass the floor again.

"They look nice together," I say.

"Yeah, that's why I introduced them," Peeta answers, holding the door to the lobby for me.

"Just full of good ideas aren't you," I tell him.

"Well, it was a very good night for me," he replies. His hand finds the small of my back gently as he calls for a cab and I don't stiffen, but I'm beginning to think Jo's nickname for me is spot on, because for the second time in less than three hours, something Peeta has done has short circuited my brain.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow, " I tell her when we reach Katniss's brownstone and stop myself from leaning across her to open the cab's door. It's tempting to use the excuse to get closer to her, but after Finn, Cato, and whenever I could get the nerve, myself, I think she might have reached her quota for physical contact.

"I'll be there, " she promises. "Gotta win the money to fix this nose now don't I?"  
I make the sound of Pinocchio's nose growing before she laughs and closes the door. I let my head fall back on the seat and sigh.

"Smooth," the cabbie laughs.

"I'm a good tipper buddy, don't hurt yourself," I tell him with my eyes closed.

That's it for chapter two folks. Like I said, it's slow moving, but I like to think Peeta and Katniss have some subtle chemistry. Promise to amp it up a little next chapter. The game officially starts next upload, so there will at the very least be that kind of action. I like reviews, they make me all warm and fuzzy inside. I'm a sucker for positive reinforcement. Reinforce me people. Thanks for reading. -WhiskeyNoWater


	3. Sand and Salt

Hey y'all! Sorry, sorry, profusely sorry for the wait. Lots of excuses, not gonna bore you though.  
Many thanks to my reviewers! Y'all are so sweet and encouraging!  
Another big thanks to a good friend, who read over this, didn't completely despise it, and helped me catch a few things. You know who you are.  
Lastly, The Hunger Games, The Amazing Race, and Josh Hutcherson and his perfect jawline do not belong to me. That last one is really depressing. Please read and review! -WNW

They would pick the pedestrian plaza in Times Square as the place to start the race. It had the bonus of being basically a free, living obstacle course and it was optimally loud and confusing. If we didn't play it right the instant the gun went off, we'd lose each other in the crowd.

"Ok, before they have us run out there into the thick of it, I have a questionable technique that may save us from getting separated," Peeta says adjusting the straps of his bulky pack and avoiding direct eye contact, as we wait just out of sight in a make shift tent of sorts, last in line, preparing to run out whenever Flickerman announces our name and hometown.

"Ok, how questionable," I reply, bouncing on the balls of my feet, trying to shake myself out, my muscles all bundled with nerves. Magazines were cool, I couldn't trip in a magazine in front of thousands upon thousands of people, land flat on my face, and lose the race before it even started. That's totally doable on a reality television show however.

"Just mildly. I think we should hold hands, we won't get lost that way and to be honest I could do with the extra stability," he admits, flashing me a jittery sort of grin. My stomach clinches suddenly. Holding hands seemed so intimate. Then again, Peeta and I would basically share a room until the end of the show, things were about to get more intimate fast. It was unnerving, but my discomfort with physical contact was a hurdle that needed to be jumped now.

"I'll hold you up if you hold me up,"I agree.

"Deal, and if anybody gets in the way we'll just bowl them over, like tag team wrestlers," he jokes.

"I'm so sure. I can see it now, Peeta Mellark clothes-lining a little old lady in her "I Heart New York" t-shirt, Macy's bags flying everywhere. That's prime time television," I reply and then we're laughing, almost deliriously, the anxiety of this crazy, new thing we're embarking on in front of virtually everyone we know with a television set, having finally gotten to us. Peeta stopped to breath for a second, his voice and eyes suddenly full of realization.

"Holy crap, that Cato guy might kill someone," he says.

"Maybe it will be one of his adoring fans and they'll go out happy," I speculate. "Let's just make sure it isn't one of us."

A guy in a head set warns us that we're the next team to the start.

"Ready," he asks and those big, blue eyes search my face kindly. He extends his hand to me. I feel a swooping sensation in my stomach that I'm not willing to credit to anything, but the thousands of people waiting in the square.

"As I'll ever be," I reply and slide my hand into his. For a moment, we stand just on the other side of the tent's open flap hand in hand, and I'm so nervous it feels as though I've created my own bubble, blocking out the persistent noise that is New York. All I can here is the thud of of the blood pumping in my ears, faster than it should, and my mind over analyzes the details of Peeta's hand. Calloused here and there, but still soft, and strong. More than anything, his grip is firm and secure. A peal of thunder rumbles ominously, but even it sounds muffled beneath my staccato heartbeats. Then, siphoned from the distant clamor, I hear Flickerman calling us out, Peeta shoots me a winning grin, and we're off, sprinting down the little runway towards the other teams and Flickerman, nearly neon against the gray sky . Somehow, we make it unscathed to the center of the plaza. I catch my breath, utterly in disbelief that I didn't humiliate myself or create a catastrophic domino effect bringing Peeta and anyone close enough, down with me. While Flickerman works the crowd, I suddenly realize that my intact arrival is mostly due to the fact that I've crushed all the bones in Peeta's hand and I start to loosen my grip.

"Don't. Nervous. Need to be ready to run," he says out of the corner of his mouth, his eyes on Flickerman as he goes over a few preliminaries.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I'm beginning to think we may lose. Not because we don't have what it takes. No, it's mostly because I can't focus worth a damn. What kind of a grown man am I? Not much of one apparently, because the fact that hard shelled Katniss Everdeen is holding my hand on national television, has reduced my insides to a giddy, maelstrom of endorphins. It's taking everything to keep my facial expressions in check. I had surgery once, just before they wheeled me in, they plugged liquid valium into my iv, explaining that it was working when I started to grin and couldn't stop. That is how I feel now, only I have to stop, or I'll give myself away. It's easier once I focus on Flickerman and his shirt, so loud it accounts for half the noise out here.

"Here at Around the World we stand behind the idea that it's not if you win or lose, it's how you play the game. That in mind, at the end every show, viewers will have voted on their social media site of choice and a people's champion will be awarded. The rewards can be anything, a better hotel room, a secret short cut, first class airfare, a driver, just one more reason to interact with our audience. Who knows, you may have already won them with your interviews," he says giving us all a wink and I'm reminded of the question he asked me when he pulled me aside at dinner.

"So, Peeta, someone mentioned that your feelings towards Miss Everdeen may be less platonic than we gathered in our first interview. Any truth to that?" And at first I'd been stunned, my eyes flitting to Haymitch and the man suddenly became very interested in whatever Effie had to say. That sneaky son of a - "Peeta?"

"Um, about that," I stammered and then made a quick decision. Denying it had done me no good so far, but blatant honesty seemed too much. "I guess you'll see won't you," I replied with what I hoped was a steady grin.

This may be why Flickerman's eyes linger on the pair of us.

"Now, I must remind you that the last team to our check point tonight will be eliminated. This is an elimination round. Lastly, our clue. 674 miles made me a bronze hero, but you'll have farther still to go. To find out where first you'll roam, simply find me and remember Nome."

Flickerman raises a racing pistol over his head.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's go Around the World," and he fires. Katniss is immediately tugging my hand.

"Let's go," she's saying. "I've got it. Follow me."

The threat of pedestrian collisions becomes real as we streak through the crowd toward the street, looking for taxi cab yellow. I throw a look over my shoulder.

"Cato and Clove are right behind us," I shout.

"Then run faster, " she suggests breathlessly. "TAXI!"

She rips open the door as a cab glides to a stop in front of us and we throw ourselves in, landing tangled, but the first team in a cab. One of our camera crew crams himself into the passenger seat, whirling to point the camera at us.

"Corner of 67th and East Avenue please, go, go, go!," Katniss cries out.

"50 dollars extra in it if you can shake the cab behind us," I add watching Clove and Cato hailing a taxi through the back glass.

"Hold onto your hats," the driver says in agreement and we scream into traffic cutting off another taxi. I turn to Katniss.

"What's the clue," I ask as the weight of our packs plus the sharpness of the driver's turns throws us around the back seat. Somebody honks. A lot more people honk. "Tell me now before we die."

"It's the Balto statue just north of the zoo in Central Park. Remember the movie with the Russian goose?" Katniss tells me grinning excitedly .

"No, I don't and I hope no one else does either. Good job," I congratulate.

"It was Prim's favorite movie. We saw it a few times when we moved to my place in the city," she says with a shrug, bracing herself against the door.

"Well, thank you Prim," I say into the camera.

"Yes, thanks Little Duck," Katniss adds, blowing a kiss at the camera. I check the back glass and don't see any sign that we're being followed. I sigh with relief and immediately have my head rapped on the window as we whip around a bike messenger. The driver curses and the cameraman laughs. Several death defying blocks later, the park is in sight and though I regret paying Barney, the clearly semi-suicidal cabbie, to shake the competition I give him another fifty to stay put before we sprint into the park.

"This way," Katniss shouts and I'm right behind her, that braid I'm a little too into, whipping out behind her as she runs. Gary, the camera guy, is huffing along behind us.

"I can see it," she crows, rounding a curve in the path, and I see it to. A bronze sled dog, perched high on his miniature mountain over a graven plaque. We reach the neon green drop box together and rip out the first laminate card, just as Finn and Jo round the corner.

"Flight 231 from LaGuardia airport only has room for three teams. Hope you find it in time," I read over Katniss' shoulder and we're running again, crossing poor Gary who didn't get a chance for a breather.

"You got this Gary, " I shout as I run by. Katniss whoops and high fives her friends as we pass. Besides those two, no one else seems to have caught up to us and I'm impressed with Barney's driving for a minute, but I remind myself our lead isn't a big one, just one slipup and we could go home today. For the longest time, I'd watched Katniss struggle, the prize money would be the end of that. I'm not letting us go home today or any day. Proof that I've been counting my chickens before they've hatched rears it's ugly Cato shaped head, as we bound into the short straightaway leading back to the street. There, parked as close as they can get to the front of Barney's cab without actually touching it, is Cato and Clove's car, they lope past with triumphant grins. Barney is stuck tight, Cato and Clove's cab in front and a car we don't recognize parked behind him, he's got no wiggle room.

"I'm sorry boss. The guy won't move. The kid paid him to stay put," Barney explains leaning out of his window and flipping off the other driver, who yells back a string of colorful explicatives. "Oh yeah? Well, same to you buddy!"

"You getting all this Gary," Katniss asks, raising her brows. I hand a suddenly very calm Barney another fifty for keeping up his end of the deal anyway and sigh.

"Come on, we gotta find another cab," I tell her, looking up and down the street for yellow. It begins to drizzle.

"Need a ride," Finnick's voice rings out as he comes into view, Johanna right behind him. Suddenly, a cab breaks out of traffic and roars up alongside Barney's. "Cause that's ours. With a creative seating chart we might just fit."

Turns out Finnick and Johanna had paid their driver to drop them off on 64th and pick them up at 67th, noticing Cato and Clove's interest in their route.

Seconds later finds the four of us wedged in the backseat, our new driver making quick work of the four mile drive, Katniss perching awkwardly in my lap, trying to make herself lighter it seems, by sheer power of mind.

"I'm so sorry," she says for the tenth time, trying to reach some mental state of anxiety where she can just hover an inch over my lap.

"It's alright, really, I could think of worse seating arrangements," I tell her smiling.

"Do tell," she deadpans.

"Well, me sitting in Finnick's lap or vice versa. No offense buddy, but you're just not my type, and Johanna, I'll be honest, you're too much woman for me." I tell the pair of them. Johanna gives me a catlike smirk and Finn laughs, a flash of bright white teeth in his disturbingly attractive face. Or you sitting in his lap, I think to myself. Just friends or not, a particular photo from her article on Finnick was burned into my memory. It was taken in Hawaii and Finnick's arm was draped loosely around Katniss' waist, his hand touching the olive skin revealed by her swimsuit, and they were laughing, roaring with laughter actually. She looked carefree and comfortable and not at all how she looked right now in my lap. I didn't think I could truly be jealous, not over someone I had never had and likely never would, until the moment I saw that picture. The flash of ridiculous envy sparks a rash thought and I can't contain it, before I know it, I'm wrapping an arm around her and smoothing my hand up and down her back.

"A few things. You weigh absolutely nothing. We're probably going to have to touch each other here and there to get to the end of this I'm sure, you just tell me if something is too much for you, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. For instance, by telling you that I'm going to have to thank Cato for this later, no one this pretty has ever found themselves in my lap," I tell her with a wink and I'm no Finnick Odair, but I'm certain the flush that blooms in her cheeks is promising.

"Don't get too comfortable Brainless, once we're out on the street it's every man for himself again," Jo tells her as the airport comes into view.

"Oh, I won't forget," Katniss replies and for a second I see the first real streak of her competitive nature in those slate gray eyes, quickly washed over with mild indifference.

"Bet I beat you there by a mile," Jo prods.

"Bet what exactly," Katniss asks, lured out. I'm beginning to think competing with Johanna is something she enjoys, but pretends not to.

Johanna gives me a long look and a slow smile.

"Just one nibble, if I win," she says.

Katniss glares suddenly.

"Jo! Stop it!"

"What? If you really don't want me to you'll run all the faster."

Katniss gives me an uneasy look and her eyes dart back to Johanna, hardened steel.

"First one to the gate," Katniss stipulates. "Partners don't count."

"Deal," Johanna agrees and turns to me again, her grin positively devilish. "Don't worry, I won't bite that hard."

The drivers stops suddenly and it's time to bail out. Katniss rolls out my lap and onto the curb, running to yank both our packs out of the waiting trunk.

"What did you just get me into," I ask rushing along beside her, jamming my arms into my straps after she tosses me my bag, and following her in.

"Don't worry, I'll get you out too. Jo forgets, my city, my airport, I've done this a thousand times. She's just a tourist," Katniss tells me as we jog.

"The tourist that's gonna kick your ass," Johanna adds sprinting past us, Finnick hot on her tail, bolting around a corner before we can get to it. Katniss grabs my arm and makes a 180 turn.

"Run fast, help desk is this way," she says with a mile wide grin, and we tear away, bounding around people and their luggage.

"That was dirty Everdeen," Jo screeches over the crowd behind, once we've got a significant head start towards the desk. Katniss just laughs as she runs.

"Tourist,"she yells back.

We suddenly stop in front of a pretty lady behind a desk and a computer.

"Good morning, where is flight 231 leaving from," Katniss asks politely, breathlessly. The woman types quickly and smiles at us as we gulp for air.

"Terminal B, gate C-11," she answers. "Have a nice flight."

"We will, thank you," Katniss days already tugging me back into a run.

"Run like your neck depends on it," she yells over her shoulder, her hand pulling mine.

"Does it," I shout back, picking up the pace, certain I hear the squeak of Johanna's sneakers on the polished floor not far behind.

"Maybe. Mostly your jaw. She likes your chin," Katniss admits laughingly.

"My chin," I laugh.

"Well, it is a nice chin," Katniss calls out and I smile.

We're in the little offshoot of C gates and Katniss, lets out a whoop of excitement.

"There it is!"

"I'm coming Brainless, better run faster," Johanna shouts and I look back, she's maybe five yards behind us and running full tilt.

"Partners don't count," I remind Katniss, knowing she'll run twice as fast if she isn't guiding me. She grins at me again, her eyes gone quick silver amidst the thrill of competition, and she lets go of my hand, streaking out in front, shouting back all the while.

"Not today Jo!"

Johanna powers past me. I can hear Katniss laughing, her braid swishing behind her, and though I pride myself on not ogling her, it can't be helped, her ass is incredible in those running shorts.

"Not a bad view eh Mellark," Finnick says, suddenly at my elbow, giving me an Odair wink.  
Embarrassed at having been caught or angry that Finnick can see what I can see, I bolt ahead, making it far enough to see Katniss tag the gate sign with the the palm of her hand seconds before Johanna, and break into a ungainly, but victorious, little dance.

"Spoil sport," Johanna pouts.

"Thanks for saving my neck," I tell Katniss when I reach them, Finnick just behind me. She smiles happily.

"We're the first two teams," Finnick points out, looking around and we are.

"We won't forget the cab favor," Johanna warns.

"Neither will we," I promise.

"Wonder what team is lucky number three?" Katniss wonders.

I tell myself that it will be anyone other than Cato and Clove, just because they played dirty and honestly the way Cato eyes Katniss makes me want to break his jaw. Even as I force feed my train of thought straight positivity, he and his teammate come running around the corner, his beady eyes locking onto Katniss with hard determination.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Normally men understand my cold shoulder. Although, there are some, like Finn, who initially see it as a challenge, but Cato Hart, seems to be taking it as a personal insult that I am both beating him and that I haven't thrown myself at him with wild abandon. After we receive the tickets waiting for us at the gate he makes another ill conceived attempt for my attention. His nearly trashcan lid sized hand clapping Peeta on the back.

"Hey man, swap seats," he demands his hand reaching out to snag Peeta's boarding pass, but Peeta moves, deftly jerking it away.

"I'm good where I am thanks," Peeta says politely, but firmly, and then ever diplomatic turns to me. "What about Katniss? Want to sit by Clove," he asks as if Cato hadn't been trying to force him out of his seat, but just shake up the seating arrangement.

I give the dark eyed girl a few feet away a look as if I'm considering the idea and I'm greeted with a cold glare.

"Nah, I don't think either of us are into girl talk," I reply. Cato gives Peeta a look I'm certain would kill most people, but Peeta only smiles back politely. Cato stalks back to Clove, throwing us both that same withering glare.

Peeta turns to Gary, who's only just caught up a few minutes ago, but managed to catch the short exchange.

"Stick around Gar, the second that thing isn't pointed at me, he's going to bash my head in," Peeta jokes.

One by one, the other teams arrive, only to be sent to the next gate, waiting another two hours until take off. I give Rue a remorseful little wave, happy they came in fourth, but wishing they'd managed to displace Cato and Clove. The four hour flight to Aruba seems daunting with them in the same air tight space. Finn has a short, probably extremely flirtatious conversation with Annie, when she and Cecilia arrive. I'm happy to note they haven't come up last.

On the plane, I begin to relax, like a fish back in the water. Peeta gives me the window and takes my backpack to stow it in overhead and I'm momentarily distracted from his gentlemanly behavior by the long strip of abdomen revealed by him reaching overhead. Whatever Peeta does when he isn't baking is working, because the muscled expanse of stomach sloping into his black athletic shorts is enough to make my cheeks heat and I abruptly look away out the window.

"Hot damn, what did he say in the cab," Jo whispers in my ear, suddenly leaning over the back of my seat as Peeta continues to struggle with the bags. "That you two would have to touch each other from time to time before this was over? I'd start right now and never stop."

"Shut up Jo," I hiss back.

She gives my head rest a good shake before, looking at Peeta, just as he slams the overhead shut triumphantly.

"Hey Mellark, changed my mind about where I want to nibble," she tells him and even as all the blood in my body rushes to my face, I can see Peeta's cheeks going pink, but he grins.

"Sorry, Johanna, I believe you lost that bet. Nibbles are for winners," he jokes smoothly .

He slides into the seat next to me and smiles.

"Your friends are...," he searches for a word.

"Crazy, obscene, disturbed in the head," I offer.

"Mostly horny," he finishes.

"Oh yeah, that," I reply nodding. "Yeah, that's twenty four seven. Shame they don't sell chastity belts in airport gift shops you might need one before this is over."

"Don't have one I can borrow," he asks with a chuckle and his eyes are a mirthful cornflower blue, a bright ring of light green around his iris. He really is something. Instinctually, I start focusing my camera. I'm never without it and today is no different.

"No, I must have left mine at home," I answered.

"Some seasoned traveler you are."

"Do you mind," I ask lifting the camera.

"Not at all," he answers kindly and I snap a few of his face, smiling with satisfaction. Just enough light, his eyes really pop. Dutifully, I stand and turn to snap a few of Finn and Jo, who surprisingly cooperate.

"So we should be friends I think," Peeta says when I sit back down.

"Well, you'd certainly be a less horny change of pace," I reply. He laughs.

"I don't know about that," he jests. "But yeah, the team that wins this is going to have to be close knit, we've got four hours until we have to hit the ground running, obviously that rules out plane drinking, so lets you and I become friends," he suggests as the seatbelt light comes on.

"How do we go about doing that," I ask. "I'm not exactly the most experienced at making friends."

"Don't worry grasshopper, I can teach you," he says. "We'll ask each other questions."

"Any question?" I query.

"Sure. Nothing's off limits. Friends tell each other things. Sound good," he asks.

"Yeah, sure, but you first," I agree as the plane begins to take off.

"Favorite color," he starts, leaning a little further back in his seat and fixing me with his undivided attention.

"Green," I shoot back, easily. "You?"

"Orange," he replies. I give him a strange look. "Not day-glo Effie orange, natural orange, sunset," he clarifies.

"Favorite food, besides cheesebuns?"

"The lamb stew my dad used to make. I can't cook and no one else can touch it. But, I swear, best thing I've ever eaten on earth. How did you know about my cheesebun addiction?"

"I ran the bakery on Main by myself during your second semester away. Whenever you came home for breaks I'd have to double our cheesebun production."

"You did not!"

He laughs.

"I did, but it was my pleasure. Cheesebun business was booming with you around."

I blush, but continue on, now that we've covered how much of a pig I am.

"Your favorite food?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Almost four hours and one short layover in Miami later we're still talking, but the questions have gotten harder.

"Why didn't you tell, on your mom, I mean," she asks looking down apologetically.

I sigh.

"She was a lot of awful things, but she was still my mom. For a long time I believed the things she said, thought I could do better and be better and she'd be happy then. It took a long time to realize she'd never be happy. After that, I told myself that she was sick, something was wrong with her, that somehow being her whipping boy was noble, that it made her feel better, but a person can only take so much. One day, Dad walked in just as it was happening and she was so furious she never even noticed him there, just kept whaling on me. He threw her out and that was that I was a sophomore in high school, after that life got better, way better."

She sighs and I'm uncertain what feeling lays behind her mercurial eyes.

"I'm glad for that," she says finally.

"Me too," I reply, deciding to try for more levity while getting an answer to one of my own wonderings. I lower my voice, signal for her to come closer, and lean down to her ear.

"Why didn't you sleep with Finnick," I ask and surprisingly she laughs, throwing back her head and exposing the long tan column of her throat and I'm instantly reminded of her in that picture. She's comfortable. The knowledge of that is elating.

"Um, I imagine I didn't for the same reason everyone else does. I mean he's gorgeous, that's a given, but he knows it, and that's annoying. He oozes sexuality and that's just not my thing. I like a little more finesse. Subtle is more my pace."  
I smile. Great answer.

"Subtle is good," I say. I can do subtle. I'm the king of subtle.

"Very good," she answers. The pilot announces our impending landing and I take a moment to lean across Katniss, looking out the window at the aquamarine waters of Aruba, noting for the first time her perfume, that seems to have a hint of lime to it, and sun block. It's like summer.

"Wonder what we'll be up to," I ask.

"My bet's on the water," she says, her face next to mine at the window, highlighting perfectly how in four hours time, I've gotten closer to Katniss Everdeen than I have in my entire life.

A change of clothes into swimwear and cover-ups, an airport sprint, hellacious taxi ride, and tiny puddle jumper plane ride over the deep azure waves and we've reached our destination, a rocky little island off the coast of Aruba. We've lost the lead, because apparently when you bet Johanna drinks at the hotel, she starts to take things seriously. Katniss jokes that it's because Johanna has more experience getting in and out of her clothes fast. They only just beat us to the little island tour plane, with only enough room for two teams and while normally I'm a good sport, leaving Cato and Clove to catch the next plane with whoever caught up, was somewhat satisfying. A couple of Finnick's renditions of the Gilligan's island theme song later, I was rethinking that.

Flickerman was waiting, blooming out of sand in a white panama hat, hot pink silk shirt, and white linen pants.

"Welcome, welcome. Today's challenge will not only take teams of sound mind and body, but teams with patience. On my signal you will race down the beach and climb that cliff side," he explains, pointing to the rocky cliffs to the north, where there appears to be a wide overhang, some thirty feet over the water. "From there you will jump to the water below and swim four hundred feet to the parallel beach, and then the hard part begins. Once on shore, you will pick your tools and build a sand castle four feet high with four flagged turrets, and it must pass a creativity inspection by three judges, each a professional sand sculptor."

We are meant to pass our bags to Gary who will be riding in the boat to film our swim across. Cameramen are scattered through out the cliffs. The cliffs themselves must be easy enough to climb because the only gear we're given are helmets and a pair of life jackets, no climbing gear necessary. I'm momentarily paralyzed when Katniss shimmies out of her Nike running shorts and pulls her tank top over her head, revealing a peach bandeau top bikini, again, for a second I'm certain we'll lose, because she's too incredible, so much so, Gary began filming as soon as her pack hit the ground, some dirty reality tv instinct telling him clothes were about to come off, and thankfully she straps on the bulky black life jacket, and I gain full capability of speech again. I give Gary a sharp look as I rip my shirt over my head and stuff it into my bag. It freaks me out a little that he keeps on filming me in much the same way he had Katniss.

"Getting a little creepy there Gar," I say tossing my pack into the boat at his feet. He laughs.

"Hey man, gotta keep the lady viewers happy too," he tells me.

Katniss leans close to my face minutes later, helping me with the strap on my helmet.

"What are you thinking about so hard there Mellark," she asks and seeing as how I'm thinking about how perfect her thighs look and she can probably smell my brain cooking, I blink stupidly for a moment, before forcing myself onto another train of thought.

"How bad a swimmer I am," I say quickly, which is what I had been thinking about briefly before Katniss decided to enter my personal space.

"That's ok, I love to swim. I'll get you there. Once you've hit the water, spread your arms and bow you back to keep from sinking too far. The life jacket will help propel you to the top, then you have me," she smiles encouragingly.

If only, I think dryly to myself.

The next plane is buzzing the island when Flickerman calls us to attention, firing the racers pistol again. Sand flies. Friendly though it may be, the competition is fierce. I'm certain I'm the only one who hasn't done something similar to this and my beliefs are confirmed by the ease at which Finnick, Johanna, and Katniss scramble up and over the rocks as if it were second nature. I'm keeping up, but outmatched easily. If anything, I'm thankful I bought shoes with good traction.

"I'm going to have the biggest margarita I've ever had in my life Mellark," Johanna shouts from a flat terrace of stone above me, a grin splitting her slender face.

"Less yapping, more climbing Jo," Finnick yells back at her.

Katniss helps pull me up and over the last rock, just as the top of Johanna's spiky head disappears from sight, plummeting to the water below.

"On three or running start," Katniss asks, bouncing on her feet the way she does when she's nervous.

"Running start I think," I extend my hand. "You ready?"

She slips her fingers between mine in a tight grip.

"You jump, I jump, Jack," she says. I can hear Clove shouting at Cato below and it sounds like Rue yelling encouragement to her brother and when I look over the edge it is. Rue is scaling the cliffside with zero effort, already near to the top. Clove is crimson faced and cursing as Cato struggles to drag his hulking form over a rock. Katniss whistles gleefully at Rue who winks up at us.

"We better go," I remark. "That kid practically flew up."

"I like her," she says. "Let's go."

It's a short run to the wide precipice and then we're in the air, dropping like stones to the ocean below, and slicing into the deep. I do exactly as she said, bowing my back and keeping my arms spread, and she's right, I'm only under the waves for seconds the buoyant vest and the pull of her hand lifting me to the surface. Determined not to be dead weight, I let her go and begin the strongest stroke I can manage against the waves, towards the shore opposite us. Her strokes are smoother, steadier, but she never pulls too far ahead, just in case she has to tow me, which drives me to kick harder, swim faster. I won't drag her down. 400 feet hadn't sounded so long, but it is, it definitely is and the relief I feel when my feet hit bottom is almost euphoric. She hadn't needed to help me. I carried my own and as I see her giving various sand tools puzzled looks, I realize I'm about to show my worth. I yank the life vest off and toss it away. I watch a few seconds of Finnick and Johanna trying to stack shovel after shovel of wet sand to meet the four foot quota and smile. Drinks are not going to be on me tonight.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

For a second, I find myself fixated on the spectacle that is Peeta Mellark completely shirtless and dripping wet. Had Jo not dropped the f-bomb, their castle collapsing into a heap, I might have been caught in the act. I swallow thickly and look down at the tools. The sand castle was going to be harder than I thought, but Peeta seems confident, suddenly taking charge. I snag four flags, two shovels, and a few tiny hand tools that looked like pie servers in varying sizes, under Peeta's direction, as he grabs what looks to be a large trash can without a bottom and two buckets. We start by creating a raised foundation of wet sand that we stomp flat together.

"This will help keep it steady," Peeta explains to me, smoothing his hand over the now wide and even surface.

He places the bottomless trash can in the center of our foundation and we fill it alternating sand and water, until its full nearly to the top with wet sand. By then, Rue and Thresh are climbing up the beach, shedding their vests. I wink at a beaming Rue and Thresh high fives Peeta in greeting. I can see Clove and Cato bobbing in the waves, making their way, behind them other teams climb the cliff.

"Ok, I'm going to lift you up into the barrel and I want you to stomp it all flat, create compaction," Peeta tells me, stepping close. "Put your hands on my shoulders."

I dust my hands off to remove some of the sand and grip Peeta's broad shoulders. I struggle a little to bring my thoughts into a check. Just building a sand castle, nothing sensual about that. Nope. They're just shoulders, smooth, muscled shoulders, just keep looking at your feet, that's right. Nothing, you feel nothing, my that is some interesting sand. But I can't help it, the instant his hands tentatively contact my hips, my eyes jerk up to his. Holy shit Houston we have a problem! Too blue. The white of the sand reflecting in his eyes, lends light to the color making it brighter, just as blue-green as the water. He smiles cautiously at me.

"Alright," he asks and it's my imagination that made that one word sound somehow more huskily spoken than anything he's ever said to me. You're such an idiot. Get in the can.

"Mhhmm," I mumble.

"Up you go then," he says, lifting me up as if I really didn't weigh a thing.

"Alright, now put all those cheesebuns to work Everdeen," he jokes and the moment of stark tension I'd felt before dissolves into comfortable partnership again. I keep stomping around until he's satisfied. Watching Cato and Clove start their own castle. Marvel and Fox are the next on the beach, then Chaff and Boggs. I'm certain I see the copper fall of Annie Crestia's hair as she jumps from the cliff.

"Looking good Everdeen," Peeta says, "You can come down now."

I take his offered hand and jump before he can lift me down. Nonplussed, he lifts the can carefully, revealing a solid, smooth cylinder of sand, that combined with our platform base and future towers should easily make the four foot quota. He scrapes and slices at the sides, carves away at the sand like it's a block of marble with his little cake spatula, until the cylinder is a perfectly smooth rectangle. After that, he puts me to work with a bucket of super wet sand, making a tower in one corner as he starts another. I've failed miserably for twenty minutes as he manages to create three cylindrical towers out of the same sand soup mixture I can't get to work for me. I don't like to fail and I'm beginning to get frustrated. I can tell by the hesitant looks he gives me from under his lashes, that he wants to help me, but doesn't want to patronize me either, so he continues on adding detail to our castle with every little knick and swipe of his tools , creating windows, stone walls, spiraling stair cases, climbing vines. I'm awed, envious, and aggravated that I can't make one dumb tower. Finally, I give in.

"Ok, I can't take it anymore. Teach me please," I ask. "This sand is too wet. It's impossible."

Peeta comes around the castle to my side, inspecting the slurry of sand and water in my bucket.

"No, no it's perfect, you just have to be patient. Here, take a handful," he tells me clearing away the remnants of my past failures. "Put it here." He nods as I place the mound of dripping wet sand on the corner, but quickly covers my hand before I lift it. " Don't pull away immediately, leave your hand there a moment so the sand can set firmly." He lifts his hand, releasing mine. "Now again, right on top of that one. It's going to be ugly and misshapen as it drips together, but that's easy to fix with the tools," he explains and watches patiently as I stack handful after handful of sand until my tower matches his in height.

"Alright, here you go," he says, holding out his spatula tool. "Finish it up."

"You're kidding," I shake my head. "I'll destroy it."

"I trust you," he says. "Besides it's not as hard as it looks. "

I take the spatula reluctantly and carefully carve at my ugly little tower as if I'm defusing a bomb.

"You're doing great, be right back," he tells me and jogs off to where the waves are coming up on shore. Just as he's coming back I finish, grinning with satisfaction at the smooth pillar of sand that is all mine.

"See, not so hard, just needed patience. Come on, I need that artistic eye of yours Haymitch is always yapping about. What's a sand castle without sea shells," he asks, opening his hands to show me the collection of orange, white, and rosy pink shells he's collected from the shore. We spread them out all over the castle and it really is something to look at. I've never built anything close to this in all my trips to the beach. All we have to do is place the flags and the judges will come inspect our work. Peeta is just about to place the last one when I stop him.

"I've got one thing to add, " I say. "Wait just a second," I tell him, sprinting away.

Just up the beach were palms and flowering plants and from our spot I could see brilliant, bright orange flowers. I pick as many as I can hold and race back.

"For your vines," I show him as I run back up and they really do finish it perfectly. There's no way we won't pass inspection. He has me place the last flag and we wait with bated breath as the judges approach. Jo is covered in sand and red all over from either the sun or anger, but she and Finn are finally working on towers, but then again, so are Rue and Thresh.

"Nice job guys, cars are waiting just through that wooded area there," the lead judge informs us both, passing me a neon green envelope. "It's my pleasure to say you've finished today's challenge in first place, proceed to the checkpoint."

Peeta lets out a whoop of excitement and I rip open the envelope. Inside is the address to our hotel and room key.

"Thank God, I need a shower," I breathe.

"You kinda do," Peeta agrees jokingly. "I didn't wanna say anything." I elbow him and he groans dramatically, then winks at me. I've decided that the Odair wink has nothing on the Mellark wink.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

An hour and a shower later, I'm laid out on one of the two queen beds that fill our small, but elegant hotel room, devouring a plate of shrimp and scallops thankful that Peeta is not watching me eat. Instead the thrum of the shower is melding with the television, flipped to an old movie I don't recognize. Not only had he opted to shower last, Peeta had thankfully called room service while I showered and a veritable smorgasbord of snacks waited when I got out. I had debated on what to wear, but settled on the red cotton sundress Prim had insisted I buy specifically for the trip. It seemed "islandy". I had toweled off my hair and brushed it through before stepping out, the damp tendrils sticking to my neck and cheeks, and smiled at Peeta before declaring the bathroom officially his. The way his eyes had snapped up and over me appreciatively was rewarding.

"Nice dress," he'd said warmly, disappearing into the bathroom.

I'm trying not to think to hard on that now.

"Uh, Katniss.." Peeta's voice echoes from the bath.

"Yeah," I shout back.

"I forgot my bag, you mind bringing it to me?"

I choke briefly on a shrimp I'd suddenly tried to swallow without chewing. Dammit.

"Katniss?"

I swallow painfully and gasp for air.

"Coming," I croak.

I grab his pack from beside his bed and open the door to the bathroom.

"Um...are you uh...all decent in there," I ask tentatively before crossing the threshold.

"Curtain's closed Everdeen," he deadpans with a chuckle. I hurry in and set the bag down on the counter and prepare to scurry out.

"Wait!"

I freeze.

"My shower stuff is in the outside zipper pocket, can you hand it to me," he asks. "Please."

I unzip the front pocket on his bag and pull out bottles of shampoo and body wash. I flinch when I hear the shower curtain drag open.

"Relax, just the shoulders up, nothing you haven't seen before. Besides, I don't care if you see me," his voice is full of laughter. I turn around, the inner idiot girly girl that I'd always denied was in there doing mental back flips to find him dripping wet and grinning at me, those blue eyes glinting mischievously.

"Well, I do mind and if you hadn't always been such a gentleman, I'd think you did this on purpose Mellark," I tell him, stubbornly refusing to let my eyes roam any lower than his smile.

"First of all, not that much of a gentleman. Second, no, but it's not a bad idea and thirdly, it's your fault, the dress distracted me."

"Likely story," I smile at him as he takes the bottles one by one.

"And I'm sticking to it. Now, get outta here you pervert, you're getting as bad as Gary," he says, giving me a suspicious look and whipping the curtain closed. I hurry back out, closing the door, grinning like a complete imbecile, just as someone starts hammering on the door to our room.

"Unless you're screwing in there, open up," Jo's voice penetrates the heavy door. "Actually, either way's good, open up Brainless."

I whip the door open glowering.

"What is wrong with you," I hiss, my cheeks flaming.

She shrugs, smiling.

"What isn't," she replies. Her eyes dart to the bathroom door.

"Don't even think about it," I warn her as she comes in and I close the door.

"Think about what? What you're thinking about. Nice dress, not your usual...um...style if that's what you want to call what you have," she pokes fun at me.

"What's up Jo," I ask shortly as she inspects our room.

"Nothing really, just came to invite the winning team to dinner in town, something for the cameras, then I thought we could lead them back here, pretend we're going to bed, double back, and hit a club. I think Finn wants to get a second with Annie that Snow Corp Media doesn't have the rights to, besides we owe you drinks."

"Sounds good to me," I agree and when Peeta comes out he agrees right away.

Dinner is at an incredible little restaurant, right on the water. My amberjack fillet is delicate and flawless, it goes great with another helping of buttered scallops, that I couldn't resist ordering. I have Peeta try one and he agrees, they're probably the best thing he's ever tasted . He looks nice, in a white button down and navy shorts, his hair more carelessly styled than it had been the first day in the elevator. Rue and I discuss her other siblings and Prim, while Thresh and Peeta talk about basketball, which I learn is Peeta's favorite sport.

At one point, the remaining contestants raise our glasses to the team that was on a flight home as we ate.

"To Beetee and Wiress, may the odds be ever in their favor," Cecelia, Annie's equally pleasant teammate, toasts. Oddly enough, Beetee and Wiress had it where it counted brain wise but the swim, coupled with a creativity challenge had proved too much for them. They'd only just been beaten out by the glitter twins, who sat on either side of Marvel tonight.

Towards the end of the meal, Peeta's arm rests along the back of my chair and I find I like the occasional rustle of warm cotton across my bare back, the comfort of instant camaraderie, how he's there, but not pushy. I like that we worked so well together today, that he makes everything seem easy, and how kind he is to the other teams, Gary, the waiter, that taxi driver, Barney, that nearly killed us this morning, everyone. What I don't like is the heated stare Cato gives me over his drink. Peeta seems to notice too, his arm suddenly dropping around my shoulders.

"Save me a dance later," he asks and my eyes are drawn away from Cato's furious glare.

"Sure, you can have as many as you like," I agree, then whisper: "What's that guys problem with me?"

"From what I can tell his problem is mostly with me," Peeta replies.

I give him a quizzical look.

"He basically wants to drag you back to his cave by your hair and have his way with you, but I'm in the way."

"How is that," I ask.

"He thinks you're with me. Think about it, we've touched an awful lot today. We left the intro dinner early and together. I wouldn't swap seats. We're sitting here, right now, touching again, so he assumes me and you are a thing."

"I think it's a good idea for him to think that," I say. "I don't care for his attention very much. Maybe he'll give up."

Peeta shrugged, then leaned down so close his breath tickled the shell of my ear.

"So let him think it," He suggested.

"Doesn't bother you," I reply softly.

"Not even a little bit," he answers.

"Thanks."

"My pleasure."

After a long day and the promise that they could sleep in tomorrow, a day off from filming mostly, the camera crews were easy to ditch.

Three hours later the bulk of the cast for _Around the World_ , had snuck out to a salsa bar on the beach. And Peeta can dance. Two drinks is all it takes to make me think I can dance equally well, and apart from brief, friendly spins around the floor with Finn and Thresh, I spend most of the night dancing and talking with Peeta and snappung candid photos of the cast. We're taking a breather at a booth over looking the floor, when Jo arrives with Finn and Annie in tow. She's carrying an entire bottle of Patron and shot glasses, and there is something very unnerving about her smile.

"I believe there's a prize to be claimed," she shouts, slamming the bottle and glasses down. "Hey buddy, lime wedges and salt, hurry," she shouts at a bar back.

"What are you on about Jo," I ask.

"You made a bet with me at the airport. The winner nibbles Peeta, remember," she replies making no effort to lower her voice, cramming a ten into the bar back's hand when he arrives with the lime and salt.

"Yeah, Jo, but I won." I remind her, gritting my teeth. What is she doing?

"Exactly and you didn't decide upon a different form of compensation for yourself and what was it Peeta said so eloquently? Nibbles are for winners. If you're feeling chicken shit Everdeen, you could always forfeit your prize to me."

Rue and Thresh join our audience and I give Peeta a hesitant look.

"Well, if you hadn't always been such a lady, I'd think you did this on purpose," he says grinning.

"So am I nibbling or are you," Jo asks. I fix her with a glare and she grins devilishly. "Lean you head back a little Mellark, the lady needs access," she tells Peeta. He fixes me with a smile, arches his brow, and leans his head back slightly.

"Been a while since college Everdeen, but I'm sure you remember how to do a body shot," she says and Rue giggles. Finn and Annie look entirely delighted. I slide closer to Peeta in the booth.

"You stop laughing at me," I order him, grabbing a fistful of the front of his shirt.

"Can't help it," he wheezes between fits of laughter. " Your eyes. You're so shocked." I promptly shut him up by dragging my tongue along his jawline to the junction of his jaw and ear and he goes completely still.

"Still funny," I ask grabbing the salt and sprinkling it before sanity can come back to me. His eyes are surprisingly dark when I look back at his face, but he doesn't answer before I dip my head back down, licking and nibbling my way up the jawline I'd admired more than a few years of my life, making certain to nip his ear gently for good measure before letting go of his shirt, throwing back the tequila, and biting into the lime, feeling the burn of the liquor and sweet citrus.

"Prize claimed Jo," I bite out, slamming the shot glass onto the table, but Peeta's hand wraps around my arm dragging back to his side.

"Not quite, I won twice today," he reminds me with a smirk, "It's my turn." His mouth suddenly colliding with the pulse point of my neck and my brain kicks into sensory mode as he mimics me, swiping his tongue up to my ear, before pulling away to add the salt, staring down at me as if me to argue. The girls catcall as he bends down to my neck again and my knees melt like butter, at some point my fingers slide into the blonde curls at the nape of his neck as he works his way up to my ear, biting down harder than I thought he would at the soft junction below my ear just as he finishes causing me to gasp. He tears away quickly, tossing back the tequila and bites the lime.

"I think I've had enough to drink, Katniss how about you," he says, pulling me out of the booth and onto the floor before anyone can say anything.

"Don't think about it," he tells me, spinning me out and back in. "Just harmless fun, between friends."

"Harmless fun," I echo, but I can't help but think it was a lot more than harmless. It felt a lot more like playing with fire. I dance. I laugh, but I can't do as he says, I'm going to keep thinking about it.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

I'm not certain if she's quiet to keep from disturbing people or if it's because of what happened at the club. I don't know what came over me. I should have shut Johanna down, wiggled out it, but years of self-denial had won out over my manners. When we reach our door, I feel like I have to say something before I do something stupid and ruin this.

I follow her in and close the door behind us.

"Katniss don't worry about earlier," I say, catching her arm and drawing her around to face me. "What's that thing you say to guys you don't want to sleep with, lay it on me," I tell her. For a moment, she hesitates and I'm certain I am going to do something very stupid that I've wanted to do for the better part of my life, when she grins at me.

"Fuck off Mellark I'm not sleeping with you tonight," she says her brows lifting with humor.

"That a girl," I praise. "Now, lets get some sleep and act like proper adults tomorrow."

We change and the lights go down and I listen to her breathing in the other bed and just as I'm falling asleep it dawns on me. She had very specifically stated she would not sleep with me...tonight.

Thanks for reading. Sorry again, about the delay. Hope I made up for it in content. Let me know what you think, WNW

*"You jump, I jump, Jack" is a direct quote from Gilmore Girls from my ffavorite episode by the same name...I love that line and will more than like, positively, use it again in some other work..


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